


For Six Thousand More

by Hedgehog-o-Brien (Roshwen)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Talking through the Aftermath, These Two Dumbasses I swear, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 09:11:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19331518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roshwen/pseuds/Hedgehog-o-Brien
Summary: Crowley has a very simple question: 'When?'The answer Aziraphale gives is... not what he expected. At all.





	For Six Thousand More

**Author's Note:**

> This was kinda inspired by the Tumblr post that goes 'Aziraphale has been in love with Crowley from the start, and only realized Crowley might be in love with him too in 1941'. Also, given what the show tells us about Heaven, I'm pretty sure my head canon is accurate here but if you disagree, you can yell at me on [Tumblr!](https://hedgehog-o-brien.tumblr.com/)

‘When?’

The question is soft, the hour is late and the room is dark. It is a few weeks after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t and an angel and demon are still quietly basking in the aftermath of A) saving the world, B) brilliantly and poetically sticking it to their respective bosses and C) a long, _long_ overdue Talk.

The Talk did not involve any kind of confession. To confess something, it would have had to be a secret first.

But it was a bit of a revelation, for both parties involved1. And it did involve a single tear, beautifully trailing down a cheek (Aziraphale), a _lot_ of tears and also snot which no amount of sunglasses could cover (Crowley), the ever so gentle removal of said sunglasses (Aziraphale), and finally an embrace that was not unlike someone who had been aboard the Titanic until ten minutes ago and was now clinging to a floating piece of furniture2 (both). Someone may have even uttered the words ‘Don’t let go,’ but that is something neither of them will ever admit to. So we will let that pass, for now.

‘When?’ Crowley asks again, voice muffled. They are lying entwined together on Aziraphale’s sofa. It’s a bit narrow, especially for one tall, lanky demon and one slightly pudgy angel, but moving is out of the question. Not when Crowley has his face tucked into Aziraphale’s neck, breathing in warmth and spice and just enough holiness to tingle in his throat. And not when Aziraphale has two arms full of still slightly shaky demon and a nose full of soft red hair that smells of soft, fresh earth after rainfall.

‘When what, my dear?’

Crowley’s breath hitches a little at the pet name. Aziraphale presses another kiss to the top of his ear and pretends not to notice. Then the demon turns his head, one yellow snake-eye glaring up at Aziraphale. ‘Angel, I just told you when I fell for you and why3. Least you could do is tell me the same?’

‘Ah.’

Aziraphale’s face grows soft as his memory opens up the filing cabinets and starts digging out the folder marked _Oh no_ 4. ‘I see. Yes. I think I do remember _when,_ but… perhaps you want to wager a guess?’

‘A _what?’_

‘A guess. It’s this thing where you say what you think the answer is, and I tell you if you’re right or wrong.’

‘I know what _guessing_ is, Angel.’ Crowley huffs and wriggles a bit so he has a little more room to talk. ‘Alright, fine. 1941. The Blitz. I saved your books and I swear I could hear a _metaphorical_ choir of angels starting up right behind you.’

‘Hmm, good one,’ Aziraphale murmurs with a fond smile. ‘But no.’

‘ _No?’_

‘No. Go back a little.’

Crowley rolls his eyes. Which is quite a feat, given that snake eyes are not meant to be rolled. ‘Okay. Let me see… 1793. Paris.’

‘The best crepes we ever had,’ Aziraphale says with a wistful look in his eyes. ‘But no. Go back further.’

‘You said _go back a little,_ I went back over two hundred years!’

‘Go back further, dear.’

‘I am going to name every single year between now and the beginning of creation if you don’t just tell me. No. I am going to name every single _date_ between now and the beginning of creation if you don’t tell me. That’s over two _million_ days angel, and believe me, I will spell every single one of them out for you unless you…’

‘Alright, fine!’ Aziraphale glared half-heartedly at Crowley’s victory smirk. ‘I fell for you… now let’s see here… yes. I fell for you about, if what you told me is true, ehm. About… ten seconds later?’

Crowley goes very still. ‘Ten seconds later than what?’

‘Than you.’

Crowley’s smirk is gone. In fact, his face has gone remarkably expressionless. Not that Aziraphale notices, because his gaze is locked on a threadbare spot on the back of the sofa, so he does not have to look at his demon. ‘I told you I gave my sword away, and you… you just looked at me. Like you _approved._ Every other…’ He swallows, his voice getting oddly thick and Crowley, still having _some_ sort of presence of mind left despite the plot twist being pulled on him, grabs his angel’s hand and holds on tight.

‘Every other angel would have laughed me out of the Garden,’ Aziraphale says softly. ‘I don’t know what any other demon would have done, but I don’t think they would have been any kinder.’

Crowley says nothing.

‘So that’s when,’ Aziraphale finishes, voice barely above a whisper now. ‘And I didn’t… I didn’t ever think you… didn’t ever think you felt the same, I didn’t know if you _could_ feel the same because of your… because of _you know_ , until. 1941.’

‘The books?’

‘No.’

‘Then…’

‘You walked into a _church,_ Crowley. Over _holy ground._ For _me._ You all but got yourself discorporated because of _me_ getting myself into trouble _again.’_

‘Oh.’

‘Yes.’

‘So…’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh.’

In the silence, the ancient heating pipes in the walls of the bookshop rattle and pop like fireworks. A car screeches past outside, followed by a drunken cry of outrage. There is barely any light inside, just the glow of the streetlamps near the windows, but that doesn’t matter. The angel and the demon can see each other just fine.

Finally, Crowley clears his throat. His voice sounds as if it’s coming from very far away as he says: ‘So… if… if that’s true, then…’

‘Yes,’ Aziraphale says again. His voice is wobbling a little too, and he hides it by pressing his face once again into Crowley’s hair. ‘It seems to me, my dear, that we have an _awful_ lot of lost time to make up for.’

 

1 Though with significantly less Antichrists, Adverse Weather Events and Horsemen involved  
  
2 Crowley and Aziraphale had not been on the Titanic. The rumors that Crowley had been on the Carpathia that night, are completely unfounded and are utterly slanderous.  
  
3 ‘I gave it away! There’s _vicious_ animals! It’s going to be _cold_ out there and she’s _expecting_ already!’ You know the moment.  
  
4 It’s quite a large folder. And the first of several.


End file.
